


A Bit of Supernatural in Your Life

by hippoprima



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon Divergence - Skyfall, Daemons, First Meetings, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-24
Updated: 2017-07-29
Packaged: 2018-10-23 13:21:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10720125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hippoprima/pseuds/hippoprima
Summary: Daemons are supernatural manifestations to meet human desires and expectations and MI6 decides to summon a couple of them to join its employment roster, such as one for protection, one to replace a lost Quartermaster. Bond's inextricably stuck dealing with them for better or for worse because that's how his luck is.





	1. The Employment of a Eve

 

Daemons, supernatural spirits often thought to have come into being to meet human needs or expectations, irregardless of how logical those needs or expectations were. They almost always manifest in human forms and can be benevolent, benign, or malevolent. Thankfully, none of them are so god-like in their powers for any fear of their existence but some of them can be rather useful to have around.

 

That is how, being always on the cutting edge, the foreign intelligence agency of the British government decided, over a decade into the 21st century and behind everyone else except for the Americans who were misguidedly trying to summon _demons_ , that they were going to try to employ a couple of daemons. (If it wasn't too much trouble, of course.)

 

The importance of this endeavour was evident in the careful selection of the team that was assembled: a mismatched pair of boffins from Q-branch, one bone-thin the other rather doughy, dispatched because no one had any patience left for their brilliant ideas, and a giant of a woman from the fae research team in Intel, whose unwanted solution to every problem was a soft-spoken suggestion to set it on fire and waving a small plastic tomato around. The three of them were to attempt an unholy marriage of old school occult summons and modern technology.

 

To curtail the trio's excitement were a middle-aged gentleman from Accounts whose unassuming suit seemed to contain a direct portal to Willy Wonka's factory and Chief of Staff Bill Tanner with a long long list of preferred and undesirable qualities in a potential daemon hire. And for protection there was the grounded 00 agent who was being punished for setting fire to not only the ambassador's house in Australia, but also the entire secured, gated neighbourhood it was situated in.

 

Bond had initially tried to protest the mistreatment but was quickly put back into his place with a sharp "don't grovel, it's unsightly" from M. Tanner had looked on in sympathy but it looked suspiciously like pity.

 

To make matters more dull, he was the only one not allowed to give any opinion on who or what to summon or hire (No, 007. The rules of equitable hire means we cannot discriminate based on if you can get them into your bed). He was meant to lurk in the corner armed with whatever the old Major thought to give him (a handful of useless things disguised as useful things and not the other way around) and keep his damn mouth shut. So he turned up Monday morning with a bottle of scotch he'd nicked from M's house in a fit of pettiness and pointedly placed his Walther beside it for anyone who disapproved. 

 

 

The first daemon they got was a tiny elderly lady with a Polish accent. When questioned, several times in increasing volume as apparently daemons could be hard of hearing too, she said she was good at gardening and cats. No one knew what 'good at cats' really meant but as neither was particularly useful for a spy agency Bond had the dubious pleasure of convincing her to go back to wherever she was before they called her in.

 

The second daemon was a small child who was good at finding hidden things and demonstrated when asked by pointing at Bond's right shin where he'd tucked a small knife. Tanner wavered a bit on whether this was useful enough but ultimately determined her apparent age was too young for them to comfortably recruit her, though no one asked what her real age was. She left only after Bond entertained her by letting her find all the weapons hidden on his person. He didn't know why she didn't try to locate all the sweets on the bean-counter instead.

 

The third, the fourth, the fifth, and so on similarly yielded no one of consequence.

 

The problem with the summoning, the Intel woman said over lunch on Wednesday, was that it was all pretty much random. There was no progression to be tracked, nothing to be adjusted to yield results in the preferred direction. Certain things were said to attract certain types, yes, but because they had to go for trustworthiness and loyalty, it was bugger all else. Bond chose not to observe that all the daemons were female thus far though he's sure at least Tanner's noticed.

 

Daemon summon number sixteen, the first one on Thursday morning, had them in an absolute scare. It was the first male daemon they'd gotten and the anomaly got their notice right away. He was a short, beefy black man who said he specialized in protection, which got them very excited and Tanner had attempted to ask for specifics. Except the man got very angry over something Bond didn't quite catch and started yelling abuse at one of the boffins, the fat one. It only escalated further as soon as Bond stood to intervene and the atmosphere was so tense that everyone found it hard to breathe.

 

Only that was wrong. It was the daemon who somehow made it hard to breathe.

 

But before Bond had the chance to either shoot the daemon or simply punch him and work out whether that would get the daemon to go away or become more unhinged, the daemon ended his tirade with a loud and angry "leave the fish alone" and disappeared. In the stunned silence that followed they pondered over whether that last proclamation meant daemon number sixteen was a protector of fish and what in the bleeding world was the need that caused for that particular manifest.

 

Understandably, no one wanted to continue. Danger that having a double-oh in the room could not avert was danger no one wanted to court a second time given the option. Bill Tanner, bless his heart, proved to be entirely deserving of his post and somehow convinced the shaking boffins, the Intel woman holding a lit miniature blowtorch (it was that plastic tomato, a Major Boothroyd exclusive), and the stress-eating accountant to try "one last time" before calling it quits. Good thing too because, as these things are wont to happen, that is how MI6 got their first daemon hire.

 

 

Daemon number seventeen was timidly called in by a trio of terrified summoners and watched over by three other very apprehensive people. Having such a frightened energy must have meant something because they got a leggy black woman who's first words were a cooed "oh what's wrong?". She was quite the beauty with smooth mocha skin and long wavy hair, and in her chic gray romper and bronze sandals it was a surprise when she answered the "what do you do" question with "oh, I protect".

 

"Fish? Do you protect fish?" Blabbered one of the boffins. The one that got yelled at.

 

"Not specifically..." the daemon dragged her vowels in confusion. "What, does your fish need protecting?"

 

Tanner stepped in quickly. "No no, just a bit of a mix-up. Don't mind him miss-?"

 

"Hmm. Moneypenny would do," the daemon laughed lightly, the sound of which dispelled any fear that she might be another angry daemon. "Pennies you throw in a koi pond."

 

"Ah. Miss Moneypenny. May I ask what you protect, specifically?"

 

"People, I suppose. Ideals, organizations, countries, delusions. Nothing specific like a fish or anything. It can't get all that specific actually." Moneypenny mused with her eyes flipped upward and a finger tapping at her chin. She raised an eyebrow when she saw relieved faces all around. "Am I what you're looking for then?"

 

"Could not have gotten better." Bond said.

 

Moneypenny's expression was both amused and exasperated but her eyes held a glint of interest that Bond took note of. But, ever the vision of professionalism, Tanner cut in before Bond could hijack the conversation further from MI6 and closer to his bed. "Miss Moneypenny, how would you like to protect all those on your list? Country, organization, people?"

 

"Delusions too?"

 

"I don't suppose any government organizations ever exist without those, do you?" Tanner smiled at the daemon and the daemon smiled back. "Miss Moneypenny, our work pertains to matters of national security for the United Kingdom. I can't go into many details but you'd be involved in Secret Intelligence Services operations such as protection, reconnaissance, extractions and so forth. Would this be something you're suited for and interested in?"

 

"Oh! You're spies then?" Moneypenny chirped excitedly. "I think this could be quite fun! Yes, I'm interested. What do you need?"

 

"Wonderful. We can discuss the details with HR and M, in the mean time..." Tanner looked around. "I suppose it wouldn't be remiss for you gentlemen and lady to take the rest of the day off after the excitement we've had. You too, 007." Tanner added when Bond lingered to look a bit more, and lead the daemon off to sign her life away to the evil queen.

 

 

The summoning team was disbanded as abruptly as it was formed so Bond took it as a sign that MI6's desire to employ a daemon has been fulfilled, though he saw neither hide nor hair of Moneypenny for months which was a tad disappointing as she was particularly easy on the eyes. He'd quickly put her out of his mind in favour of much more consuming matters of surviving gunshots and explosions now that he'd redeemed himself in M's eyes and was allowed back on the playground. Thus, having her assigned to him as support in Turkey turned out to be quite the surprise and her being amenable to getting chatted up made it all the more pleasant.

 

"If Moneypenny was for pennies in a koi pond," Bond asked over the comms during a lull while they waited for Patrice to surface. "What have you got for your Christian name?"

 

"Christian name? Seriously? How old _are_  you?" Moneypenny cheerfully gibed at him. "It's Eve if you must know."

 

"Very Christian."

 

"And for the exact meaning too."

 

"But we haven't got an Adam to match, have we." Bond smirked, knowing that the handlers listening in have all got their faces in their hands right then.

 

"Alas!" Moneypenny gushed in faux lament. "Unfortunate your name is _James_."

 

Bond smiled wider and straighted out his suit even though Moneypenny wasn't anywhere near to see it. A quick wit and a sharp tongue usually meant for a good time outside of work and Bond looked forward to see how far Moneypenny will let him push things since this whole debacle with the stolen MI6 intel was turning out to be beyond irritating. It was too bad then that all their flirting came to a head with her shooting him off a moving train.

 

There was pain, yes, and the heart-in-throat sensation of free fall, but Bond mostly felt that he'd been cheated. That he'd spent three and half tedious days in a windowless room in the bowels of Vauxhall Bridge for a daemon who couldn't do what she said she specialized in doing and ended up doing the exact opposite instead, to _him_  no less. Just before he hit the water Bond thought, " _protection, my arse_ ".


	2. The Re-Hiring of a Bond

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, still setting stuff up I guess. Q won't even show up in the next chapter because I'm 2k in and he's nowhere in sight.

There are worse places to live after death than on the shores of the Aegean. With its terrifically blue waters and soft sand and countless beach huts to get absolutely pissed in Bond supposed it was preferable to hell, the only other place that would likely have taken him. And life wasn't bad with a steady supply of ouzo and a steady backup supply of raki, so it was with genuine heart-wrenching regret that he hauled his sorry arse back to London when he saw that good ol' Vauxhall Cross acquired a bit of a dent in the top floors.

 

Bond's first order of business back on British soil was to check in with the evil one and report for duty. Never mind that she was the one who'd ordered the kill shot, it was about living up to his reputation of MI6's most responsible and sensible agent.

 

"How wonderful to see that you've stayed to enjoy my scotch instead of just running off with it again," was what M greeted him with when she found him lurking in the darkness of her flat like a lost bogeyman. The dryness in her tone let him know how she was absolutely gutted by his absence and overjoyed to see him again. "Where the hell have you been?"

 

"Enjoying death." Bond answered smugly. And, "007 reporting for duty." When M just glared at him he took it as an opening to criticize her choices. "I can't say I've enjoyed my obituary. You've almost made me sound respectable."

 

"Perhaps you'd think twice the next time you decide to just keel over." M sat down heavily. "Why didn't you call, and for _god's sakes_  why haven't you poured me one yet?"

 

In a rare display of obedience Bond served up a double, going by the bags under M's eyes, and the flattening of her lips when he tried to stop at a single. He made a clever quip or two about 'getting away from it all' and how it 'really lends perspective' but only got it back in kind with interest when she commented that he'd only come back because he ran out of drink. It was not true, but Bond conceded that since he was presently doing such a lovely job of depleting M's personal stock, he'd lost before they started.

 

Instead, Bond gave M a careful look-over and was annoyed at what he saw - she'd grown old.

 

Of course, M has always been old and being the head of a British Intelligence agency can't have been a walk in the park but this was the first time that Bond truly saw her age and her exhaustion. Was this what he'd dragged himself back to? And was he any better, barely-revived and full of pain? MI6 was moving forward slowly but persistently, surely both he and she would and could be replaced with younger soon? Or with daemons. Ones that could actually do their jobs, one would hope.

 

M also took the opportunity to cast a critical eye on him and found him lacking in turn, making it clear that he'd have to go through the qualifications again like a greenhorn and commenting on his dirty vagrant look.

 

"I'll just go home, then." Bond looked at the half finished bottle in his hand, calculating how miffed M would be if he took the rest with him. "And come in in the morning."

 

"Oh we've sold your flat." M stood to leave, taking her half-finished glass with her. "Put your things in storage. Should have called."

 

Bond's mouth opened and he worked his jaw several times but couldn't come up with anything clever to say (where do you even begin upon finding out your boss sold your flat because you've so convincingly been playing dead for months on end?) and had to settle for, "I'll... find a hotel."

 

"Well you're bloody well not sleeping here. And leave my scotch where it is."

 

So once again, Bond took the bottle of scotch with him in a fit of pettiness.

 

 

When Bond turned up the next morning he got the reception he usually got - silence when he enters a room, lots of excited whispering about him once he leaves, curious eyes peering around every corner and above every monitor to catch a glimpse, loss of attention span and productivity, the works. He basked in the awe and admiration like a squashy fat lizard in the sun and allowed it to restore some of the swagger lost at the hands of M the night before (he has since decided to never set foot in M's house again so long as she lived). That is, until he met up with Tanner for his revival paperworks.

 

"Tanner, I'd love to read your novella," said Bond with the air of sharing a private joke. "But I really should fill out those forms if you want me again." The last bit was said with a wink to a nearby secretary, who huffed but turned away with a smile.

 

"These are the forms and I'm sure it's no great hardship to us should you be keen to leave us again, 007." Tanner replied dryly, choosing to ignore the irritation that Bond didn't bother to hide. "Especially for Miss Moneypenny I should think, she was rather enjoying the infamy of killing 007."

 

"Ah. Speaking of, where is the devil?"

 

"Daemon, Bond. I'm a daemon. And I'm right here."

 

Bond looked up to see Moneypenny stroll up, looking positively radiant in a cleverly colour blocked office dress and little heeled boots. He smiled winningly at her but was kept from being distracted by Tanner's pointed tapping on his stack of forms. Bond quickly went through several sheafs without bothering to read what he was signing, they've already got his life, privacy, and home, what more could they take?

 

"How nice to see you without a gun Miss Moneypenny." Moneypenny showed him the Sig in the case she was carrying. "Or at least one that isn't pointed at me."

 

"Mmm, I wouldn't worry too much Bond. Clearly you survived."

 

"Well you gave it your best shot."

 

"It was hardly my best shot!"

 

"Not sure I can survive your best."

 

"Doubt you'll get the chance." Moneypenny gave Bond a wry look and Tanner helpfully pointed at some fields he had yet to fill. "And anyway, my specialty is protection, not killing."

 

" _Protection_?!" Bond crossed his T with a bit more force than necessary. "Well I'm not sure I'd call that protection to be honest."

 

"Because that _wasn't protection_!" Moneypenny was too dignified to roll her eyes but she did sway her body a little in exasperation. "M ordered a kill shot, and I missed. And as it turns out, I didn't even get _you_."

 

"Lucky me."

 

"Mmm yes, lucky you."

 

"And we are lucky to have Miss Moneypenny as well." Tanner interjected. "She has proved most valuable during the incident back at the old HQ."

 

"Oh? What happened there?"

 

"None of your business, 007." Moneypenny cut in before Tanner could do more than open his mouth and stared the two of them down for a beat or two before absconding just a small morsel of information, "I _protected_. That's all." Then she quickly strode off with her Sig to wherever she was headed to before.

 

Bond credits his extensive experience playing high stakes poker (albeit with other people's money) for not batting an eyelid at Moneypenny's sudden change in demeanour. But once she left he looked curiously at Tanner, who kept up his own admirable pokerface and only shook his head then tapped meaningfully at the remaining pile of papers.

 

 

As it turned out, paperwork enough to drown in and Moneypenny's strange behaviour were the least of his worries.  

 

Heart rate too high on the treadmill, can barely hit a stationary target, collapsing from just a few pullups... his physical qualifications was a humbling affair and he was only saved from utter humiliation due to Tanner's tact and discretion. And the psychology evaluation was even worse. At least least there'd always been animosity between Bond and the psych team for him to pin some blame on.

 

Then there was the matter of looking for a new flat, by far the most tedious part of his return. While money wasn't an issue, what with the back pay, back danger pay, compensation for friendly fire, compensation for overzealously selling his old flat, Bond felt he could've hired a room in Buckingham Palace at that point. But agents are particular about security and convenience and discretion and he was no exception. So Bond unloaded the entire thing onto Moneypenny under the excuse that it was the _least_  she could do after killing him and putting him in the mess in the first place.

 

Suppose it was a sign of her guilt when she only rolled her eyes at him once, said nothing, and moved him in to a half decent place within the week. Bond would've been more impressed if he didn't find out that she was his next door neighbour. 

 

"Keeping an eye on me?"

 

"Babysitting."

 

"Was it really necessary to be directly next door? Surely Her Majesty's Secret Service has got other ways of keeping tabs."

 

"Oh we do, which is why it shouldn't matter if I'm next door or not should it?" Moneypenny smiled with saccharine sweetness. "Aren't you going to invite me in?"

 

Bond opened the door just a bit wider and Moneypenny slipped through like an eel. He followed after her watching her look curiously around at the few furnishings scattered around and his possessions still in boxes.

 

"You'll have to forgive me for not showing you around," Bond said with false politeness. "The place is a mess and I'm sure it's the exact same layout as your flat next door."

 

"Oh come off it. Here. Sorry you had to leave your little beach paradise to come save us."

 

Bond took the proffered box and opened it. He'd originally thought it was a bottle of liquor, when it was tucked under Moneypenny's arm, but now he saw that it was a fancy bath set. He looked incredulously at Moneypenny, who smirked, then dumbly back down at the salts and oils boasting scents with names like 'Mediterranean Breeze' and 'Aegean Memories'.

 

"You're right, it _is_  the exact layout as my flat, I had a look when I let the place for you. The oversized luxury bath was one of the selling points you know, along with the floor to ceiling bay windows, shame to let it fall into disuse."

 

When Bond continued to stare Moneypenny winked, "Good night, neighbour," and let herself out.

 

Suppose it was a sign that she'd gotten over her guilt, then. Bond gingerly poked at the contents of the set with a finger.

 

There was even a puffy sea sponge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things feel rushed and abrupt but I've just decided to plow through since fanfics were supposed to be my practice and learning experience for writing other stuff anyway. If there are very glaring problems, please let me know. Like spelling or sentence structure. But I don't think I'll change the flow or pacing.


	3. Suddenly a Wild Holmes Appeared

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~_~ Sherlock hijacked this chapter.

It can't be said that government agencies are slow as sloths as MI6 proved that it could bypass its own redtapes when the need arose. Bond's return to full employment came rather quickly after M cleared him fit for duty despite his frankly embarrassing re-qualifications. He was sure it was not out of pity but because she was eager to have her favourite pawn back in play irregardless of how beat-up it was. Which was why when he received his first mission back on duty Bond was sure there'd been a mistake.

He knew better than protest to M this time so he went to see Tanner, who was ever the sympathetic ear but couldn't be moved to take him off the task force (If I couldn't get myself off the team then surely a newly employed field agent shouldn't either). Bond tried to protest that he wasn't _new_ , just _new_ , but it didn't work. His only consolation was that now he had a few extra days to get his body into better shape so he wouldn't _actually_ die on his first real mission.

Thus, the dream team was reunited and not a thing seem to have changed since they were first shunted into a dingy room in the basement of Vauxhall Cross, only now they were shunted in a dingy room in the bowels of Churchill's old bunkers even deeper underground. The accountant was still magicking sweets from out of nowhere, Tanner still had his extensive lists, and the unholy trinity were still... themselves (deceptive plastic tomato included).

They started once again on a Monday, following the tried and true methods that didn't work last time and didn't work this time. They went through an entire week and twenty five (25!!) summons but couldn't find a single daemon Tanner was remotely happy with. They were too old-fashioned or too farfetched, not innovative enough or liable to blow through the budget with experiments, not strong enough to stand their ground against a 00 (charms or threats) or too wilful to coexist alongside the Evil One.

Come Friday night Bond found himself having a pint with his mismatched group of colleagues bemoaning their bad luck this time round.

"Judging by the lovely air of despondency surrounding you lot I take it you've had no luck in finding a new Quartermaster?" Bond raised his glass in salute while the two boffins made extra dying noises at Moneypenny's query.

Moneypenny pursed her lips in a small grimace as she sat down but it vanished quickly. And hiring the traditional way? No luck there either?" Tanner shook his head and Moneypenny's face developed a hint of a frown. "Oh. Well, is there anything I can do to help?"

"Not unless you know some summoning trick our lovely lady of Intel doesn't know," one of the boffins said.

Moneypenny shook her head slowly in regret. "Sorry love. But... I _do_ know _someone_."

"What, someone who knows a better way to summon?" the lady of Intel, whose name Bond recently found out to be Kate, short for Katherine, asked incredulously. "Daemons. Not demons? Only because the Cousins have got demons and the Vatican actually sent a team over to help. _Unsolicited_. And you _know_ how rarely you can get them to do anything for anyone else." Moneypenny quickly assured her that no, it's not to summon demons, or summoning at all, _yes_ she was aware that the Americans had had a terrible time with their demons, _yes_ she knew exactly how horrible demons were but still, the Intel woman (Kate) nervously rolled her little tomato between her hands and muttered some more. Bond wondered if it was a case of once burned twice shy.

"No I mean, I know a daemon. He's rather difficult and utterly unsociable but he's quite smart so he might have someone in his circle that could lead you somewhere."

It had never occurred to Bond that daemons knew each other and looking around, he could see that the thought had never occurred to the rest of them either by the dawning realisation alighting their faces. How does it work? Do they know each other from their time amongst humans? Or do they have their own communities in the ether? Daemons so rarely ever talk about their previous lives or masters or work, which was another reason why they were coveted by those with secrets (everyone).

"What do you need to ah, call him? And when could you do it?" asked Tanner, anxious to have a lead, any lead, oh god please no more of this summoning business he had the rest of MI6 to look after still.

"Right now if you like. I just need to..." Moneypenny closed her eyes and sat in silence for several long minutes with all eyes on her. Nothing dramatically fantastical happened and she blinked her eyes open again. "There, I sent him a message. Hopefully he'll---"

When a field agent of MI6, even one that hasn't been working for very long, cuts off mid-sentence and stares behind you in sheer horror, it can cause quite the adrenaline spike and a skip in your heart. When Eve Moneypenny of the 007 Slayer infamy did just that the whole table tensed up. Bond's hand shot towards his hidden Walther before he noted that Moneypenny hadn't made a move to grab hers, so he forced his body to relax and slowly turned to see what she was looking at.

There was a man standing behind him. A tall, thin man with a head of dark, rakish hair and rather distinct features. A man wrapped in what appeared to be cream-coloured bedsheets and from the lines of how it was draped on him, he was bare underneath.

Bond understood Moneypenny's horror.

"WHERE ARE YOUR _CLOTHES_?!" exploded Moneypenny, causing whomever wasn't already staring at them to turn to look. The man only looked flatly back at her and plopped down in the empty chair beside Bond. Conversations and general pub noises only slowly picked up after a very long, awkward silence when it was apparent nothing else interesting was going to happen.

"Not on me. _Obviously_." the man actually scoffed. "You said to come."

"I never said it was _urgent_. That you needed to come _right this instant_. Don't bother putting on _clothes_ if you haven't got _any on._ Why haven't you got any on?"

While Moneypenny gnashed her teeth at the stranger Bond took in his high cheekbones and lean figure. The man caught him looking and smirked at him.

"Well, what do you think, Agent? Do I pass muster?"

Bond flicked a look at Moneypenny and Tanner shifted in alarm, but she only sighed in resignation. "Everyone, this is my... acquaintance. ("Just an acquaintance, really?" "Yes. Do shut up.") As you can see, he is very eager to help. _No_ , I did not tell him who we are and what we do. Guessing things is his hobby ("Deductions! Deductions are my _work_!"). Yes, he is always like this ("I do wear clothes sometimes though.")."

The man grinned proudly at them as though Moneypenny had given a most flattering introduction. Tanner was the only one who was either interested enough or brave enough to venture a question, or perhaps as a Chief of Staff desperate to hire a quartermaster he had no choice but to be interested and brave.

"And ah, how did you guess, Mr...?"

"Sherlock Holmes. And I'm glad you asked! I've only--"

"Sherlock Holmes?! What, like the novels? You're the actual _Sherlock Holmes_?" squeaked one of the boffins excitedly.

"I don't believe it! You mean the books were actually based on a real person?! Were those cases all real then?" piped the other boffin. Even the forgettable accountant in the corner leaned forward in interest.

"What? No, no, no. I'm a daemon. And the Sherlock Holmes of the fictions is obviously _fictional_. You can't actually believe that I am him? Oh. You can. You did. Oh you poor little people with your poor little brains." Holmes snuck a hand out through a gap in his bedsheet and flapped it at them, surprisingly staying modest even with the movement. "Anyway, I deducted what you do based on observations--"

"So you're a fake Sherlock Holmes then? You just took his name?" although the accountant had shrunk back into the shadows the boffins remain undeterred, showing some of the zeal that had no doubt gotten them a place within Her Majesty's Secret Service's Quartermaster Branch and then loaned out to other teams at every opportunity.

"NO!" Holmes was getting exasperated. "I'm a _daemon_. You all know what a daemon is, yes? A manifestation to meet human needs and expectations? Still following? Right. So I was manifested to solve crimes, because you pitiful _children_ can't solve even the most basic of puzzles and needed a supernatural being patterned off a fictional character to do it."

"...............So is there a Dr. Watson too?"

"Oh for _god's_ sakes!" Holmes thrusted his hand out again, this time with his palm up and towards Bond.

When Bond just stared at it Holmes beckoned impatiently until Bond finally reached for his wallet and placed a twenty on the waiting palm. Holmes immediately withdrew his hand and tucked the bill away... somewhere, and shoved it back under Bond's face again.

"You are quite expensive for someone who hasn't done anything yet, Mr. Holmes," but Bond still obediently reached again for his wallet.

"I was looking to borrow your phone. I haven't got mine, you see."

"Ah, in that case, could I have my twenty back?"

"No." Holmes snatched Bond's phone from his hand and handed it back after typing something quickly. Bond looked to see that Holmes had sent two texts to an unfamiliar number, the first one being the address of the pub and the second one said:

Bring my wallet.  
SH

"You should also ask your friend to bring you some clothes."

"I'm doing quite well, thank you."

"ANYWAY," cut in Moneypenny. "Sherlock, could you help--"

"How did you know I was an agent? And what kind of agent do you think I am?" Bond ignored Moneypenny's stink-eye and focused on Holmes, understanding now that the man liked his deductions and the attention he got from it.

"Ah yes, of course." Holmes said with a smug smile with a pause for dramatic effect then shot off rapid fire. "You're a very well dressed man, your suit is tailor-made, your watch expensive. Not flashy, but quietly stated. You have money but don't feel the need to flaunt it. Not like one of those up-and-coming sorts. Old money? I don't think so. Or at least the money you're currently spending is your own because we all know our landed gentry are all carelessly faffing about in the country hunting, or holding those delightfully vapid parties and not having a drink on a Friday night with colleagues who are clearly not of your earning bracket or tastes. Suggesting that you possibly work closely with at least a few members of your party.

The group stared at Holmes with mouths agape, mesmerized. Holmes smiled at them and continued.

"You are very fit, and you have gun callouses on your right hand. Military? Hired thug? Private security, perhaps, seeing as our lovely mutual friend here is a daemon specializing protection. But no. Your companions are obviously used to working at a desk and the castes rarely mix in the military or corporate worlds. And a hired thug would be lurking in a corner and not having a casual pint with his boss.

Here Holmes gestured to Tanner.

"But it _would_ be reason why you are currently carrying a gun under your suit in a shoulder holster. Don't bother denying it I saw you trying to grab it when I first showed up, however inconspicuously you were trying to move. SO! A man who is well trained and armed, yet not military, corporate, or criminal. MI6 moved into this area recently, so you could be one of theirs. A field agent with plenty of danger pay could certainly afford to have your tastes. A field agent could be why you're carrying a loaded pistol. And a field agent could certainly have easily survive from being declared dead. Congratulations on your resurrection by the way, Commander James Bond. Saw your obituary a while back. Very moving." Holmes winked.

It took anyone several beats before the whole thing sunk in enough to react. The boffins hooted and cheered, alternating between 'oh my god' and 'bloody _hell_ ', the accountant nodded in satisfaction while peeling away the wrappers of a Werther's before popping it in to his mouth as if to reward himself for a job well done, Tanner stared with his expression torn between shock, alarm, and impressed, Moneypenny's was torn between annoyance, resignation, and unimpressed, and the Intel woman (Kate) quietly picked up her pint and tipped the whole thing back. Bond just shook his head slowly and handed Holmes another twenty.

"You are most generous, Commander. Ah, John! Glad you could make it. It turns out I didn't need my wallet after all. Commander Bond here has given me forty quid."

"What? What for? Why would anyone give you money? Is it to make you go away? Very sorry Commander, for Sherlock. Whatever he did, or said. Or didn't do, or wear. Are you wearing any pants?"

"No."

>

"Right."

The harried-looking newcomer smiled apologetically all around but made no move to remove his friend and instead joined them at their table. He was shorter than Holmes, and stockier. If he was another daemon and the companion manifestation to Sherlock Holmes then he must be Dr. John Watson, he certainly carried himself like a military man. Bond wondered if a daemon manifest of a fictional doctor could be a fully capable medical doctor.

"Now then Miss Eve, Moneypenny. Is your name really Moneypenny this time? Why is it Moneypenny? What is the case?"

"There is no case Sherlock," Moneypenny replied quickly, having seen Bond's mouth open to answer Holmes' questions about her name and further distract the already extremely distractable Holmes. "We're... just looking to hire a quartermaster. _The_ Quartermaster, if you know what I mean. We were wondering if you knew anyone suitable."

"Ah." Holmes looked put out. "Well that isn't my area of expertise I'm a Consulting Detective not human resources and I'm _very busy_. John come along now."

"What? Wai-- Hang on Sherlock, you aren't busy, you were just complaining about how you had nothing better to do than to burgle--."

Whatever Dr. Watson was trying to say was cut off when Holmes stood so suddenly he nearly tipped his chair back. Bond was rather disappointed he didn't hear the end of that sentence because it sounded very interesting.

"Very busy Miss Moneypenny, _very busy_." Holmes called out as he turned to go. Unfortunately, before he managed another two steps Moneypenny shot up and stomped one of her lovely little heels (royal blue suede with rose gold chevrons) on a corner of the bedsheet that was trailing on the floor. The sheet nearly slipped down to expose all of Holmes but for his quick reflexes that caught it dangerously low around his narrow hips. Holmes tugged his sheet ineffectually a few times. Moneypenny held her ground.

"Now now, Mis Moneypenny. This isn't very ladylike of you." Holmes gritted out through clenched teeth, easily audible through the hush that befell the pub once again.

"Before you go around calling me names let me remind you that it isn't perfectly gentleman behaviour to show up at the pub in just a bedsheet, dear Sherlock," said Moneypenny with syrupy sweetness.

The two of them stood at an impasse for several long minutes, not helped by the very interested pub staring at them. It was obvious that Holmes' pride wouldn't let him back down that easy and the she-devil that is Moneypenny seemed to be taking unnecessary joy in Holmes' discomfort. Dr. Watson stood around with wide eyes and an expression that said he wasn't about to pick a side, thank you very much, the rest of the MI6 team were quietly drinking their beers with their heads down and watching the spectacle out of the corner of their eyes. So naturally it befell to Bond to do something.

While Bond sympathised with Holmes and understood that a man sometimes just didn't want to do things and would like to be left alone, he wasn't about to cross the fatal-to-him-and-living-way-too-nearby Moneypenny. So he got up, went around to where Holmes' bedsheet was trapped under Monepenny's foot, gently tugged it out, helped drape the whole thing fully around Holmes again, and placed him back into his seat with a pat to his shoulders. Holmes went mutely along, no doubt angry and embarrassed, Dr. Watson sprang into life with a nod of thanks and sat back down as well, then Bond went up to the bar and ordered a round for the whole table and an extra drink of bourbon for Holmes.

Conversation was even slower to pick up this time and it wasn't until almost everyone at the table was nearly half way done their new round and Holmes had almost spontaneously combusted his untouched drinks through his glowering that the noise level was safe to talk shop again.

"Fine, I'll help." said Holmes emotionlessly, without needing further prompts or threats. "I'll text you."

Everyone looked to Moneypenny, who only tipped her head in dismissal, and breathed a sigh of relief. Even Tanner, who undoubtedly had many stipulations and necessitations, let it go, happy to end this highly eventful evening.

Holmes stood again, much slower this time, and with a curt nod of goodbye left with his body tense and his hands clutching his bedsheet in a death grip. Dr. Watson thanked Bond for the drinks, apologized about Holmes, bade everyone a good evening, and hurried after his companion. Poor sod.


End file.
